


Eternal of the Gods

by agoodtuckering



Series: Doctor Who Oneshots and Stories [21]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Adventures always find them and things will go very very very wrong along the way, Also Twelve and Clara never just go somewhere for a nice day out, Ancient History, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Heartache, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, No such thing as nice days out, Plato's always right, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Science Fiction, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-03-12 19:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13554162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: It's just a story. It's silly. It's only fiction. Atlantis doesn't really exist. Or does it? A lost story and a conversation with Plato change the Doctor's mind. He's determined to find The Lost City and he won't do it without Clara by his side.





	1. Saturday Visits and Exciting Ideas

**_"So saying, Minerva, Goddess azure-eyed,_ **

**_Rose to Olympus, the reputed seat_ **

**_Eternal of the Gods, which never storms_ **

**_Disturb, rains drench, or snow invades, but calm_ **

**_The expanse and cloudless shines with purest day._ **

**_There the inhabitants divine rejoice_ **

**_Forever."_ **

**_— The Odyssey of Homer_ **

* * *

He had a habit of thundering into her flat, but it wasn’t without purpose this time around. He was a Time Lord on a mission. He usually was, in his own defense, but this time he needed her.

It wasn’t Wednesday but did that _really_ matter? They hadn’t kept up with the normal schedule much since Christmas and their brief visit to Skaro. Time was of no matter to him and, as it would seem, Clara was beginning to feel the same way.

In fact, he’d been seeing her far more than the allowed _“once a week, but only on Wednesdays”_ since the Zygon rebellion and invasion. So much had happened between them. So much, in so little a period of time. She was just glad that he’d relaxed considerably around her. He was still her lanky, silly Doctor, but he was infinitely more relaxed in her presence. She was the only one he ever allowed to touch him. It was sweet to her. It was _progress._

She was on the sofa when he found her, all curled up beneath a warm quilt with her cheek on a plush cushion. The telly was on in the background with a mindless series playing. Something or other about wildlife and dangerous cats. He thought about backing away for a moment, wandering off to entertain himself in the TARDIS before she woke up, but she surprised him.

“It’s Saturday, Doctor,” she mumbled sleepily, recognizing his footsteps and the faint smell of stardust and energy in the air. It was wonderful, but not entirely welcome at the present. “What are you doing here? Go away.”

He stood there, blinking a bit owlishly with two hands on his hips. He was — _very_   _clearly_ — offended. “A simple _can you come back later_ would have sufficed. Thank you for that. I’ll just… go, then.”

He turned to leave, scowling like a schoolboy. That was certainly a bit of a let down. He had _plans_ for them. Big plans. _Impossible_ plans. And, well, she didn’t even want to hear him out. So he left, wandering back towards his blue box and slipping inside. “Well, old girl,” he said quietly, “looks like it’s just you and me on this one.”

A voice startled him and — _embarrassingly enough_ — caused him to jump. “What does _that_ mean?”

He turned around to see Clara poking her head into the TARDIS, a curious expression on her features. Her eyebrows were raised expectantly. “Nothing,” he said, feeling all too indignant now. He was a bit put-off by her _lovely_ greeting earlier.

She pushed the door all the way open and came shuffling inside, taking her time as she ambled in. Her slippers were soft on the floor, a hoodie that was about two sizes too big engulfing her torso and half of her thighs. It was probably Danny’s, which made his hearts ache for a moment. It was quite a sight on her. Saturdays were obviously her days to stay in and relax.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what terrible plans you’ve convinced yourself will be amazing. I want to know,” she teased him, in a better mood now than earlier.

He huffed exasperatedly but there was a warmth and an affection in his eyes as he turned back towards her. “I was in the Library of St. John the Beheaded yesterday morning and I was reading. I came across something rather fascinating…”

Clara threw up a hand at that, a bit shocked. “The Library of what now?”

The Doctor simply shook his head, waving a hand that constantly seemed to have a mind of its own in conversation. “Another story for another day. It’s a secret… library in London. I’ve been a patron for many years. Since my first face, I believe. Regardless, in the library they have some of Plato’s lost works, most of which I’ve read… I saw one I hadn’t skimmed before, which expanded on the Lost City of Atlantis as according to Solon and the Egyptians. Coincidentally, I had tea with Plato later in the day. So, I asked him about it.”

Clara was trying very hard to follow but oftentimes when he began to go on long rants, rambles, or speeches, she couldn’t help but tune him out. “Wait, you had tea with Plato,” she interjected, eyes going wide and _inflating_ in that way he hated. “ _The Plato?_ As in, _Socrates’_ pupil Plato?”

He looked as unphased as possible. “Yes, why shouldn’t I? If I remember correctly, I first came across the man at a gathering at Anaximander's home. Socrates was there as well. So long ago now. It was my fourth self, I think. God, that scarf was ghastly. I don’t know what I was ever thinking. Glad I got rid of that.”

Clara toed at the floor of the TARDIS before shyly speaking. “I rather fancied the scarf. And the curls. Of course you’ve got curls now, but they’re… a bit more under control. You look better with longer hair now, you know. Don’t know if I’ve ever said that. Since you let it grow out. It makes you look… softer, somehow. More approachable. A bit wild, too.” The TARDIS beeped and hummed in agreement with her, bringing a smile to her lips. She ignored his offended expression and continued on. “Who was Anaximander? Or do I not want to know?”

Truthfully, the Doctor was a bit flustered at her compliments. He didn’t exactly know how to respond, so he didn’t bother _trying._ Instead, he answered her question. “He was a friend. One of the kindest, most hospitable Greeks that I’ve ever known. He used to host gatherings and poetry readings at his home. He was far ahead of his time.”

In her slippers, Clara wandered towards the console and touched the smooth, surprisingly warm metal as a way to greet the ship. They seemed to be on good terms now. Perhaps that was because the TARDIS thought she was _good_ for the Doctor. She hoped she was.

“I asked Plato if he believed the story Solon had told was true, and real,” he elaborated. “I’ve been to many different versions of Atlantis, you know. But this one… I’ve always wondered if Plato’s version was _the one._ If it was _real._ I’ve just never gone looking for it where it was said to be located at. There's so much material. Everything is so specific. Plato got his story from Solon, as you know, who lived one-hundred and fifty years before he did, and Solon got his story from an Egyptian priest, who had gotten  _his_ story from a stone written in hieroglyphics. It's fascinating." 

He was far too excited for words. And really, _how_ was Clara supposed to turn him away now? He seemed so much younger when he grinned that way. He looked like a man who hadn’t gone through more strife than she could fathom. He looked… _happier,_ somehow. He had an adventure in mind and she was fairly sure she knew what he was about to ask of her.

“Come to Atlantis with me,” he said by way of breaking the settled silence. “Let’s find it, together.”

He knew just how to appeal to her, didn’t he? All he had to do was mentioned a few of her favorite authors and a lost city and away he could whisk her. Laughing quietly, she replied, “Let me go get changed. Just give me a moment.”

_And that was that. Away they went._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many references to things in this first chapter. Anaximander was a favorite character of mine from The Brain of Socrates, the second short story in the Short Trips anthology Short Trips: The Muses. Definitely good reads for anyone who might be interested. 
> 
> The Library of St. John the Beheaded has been mentioned quite a bit through the years (i.e. with the Collection of Necessary Secrets, the Crow Gallery, from a novel called Christmas on a Rational Planet, and with the Hereticum in the expisode named Extremis. The First Doctor went there with Susan as well, in All-Consuming Fire, a novel. 
> 
> As for Atlantis itself, the Doctor visited different versions of the Lost City a few times (in The Underwater Menace, The Dæmons, The Time Monster), however, none of these stories mesh well together and there are a lot of incongruities. They're all different stories, and therefore, different versions of Atlantis. It leaves room to write yet another tale of the city and how it fell to ruin and was lost to the sea.


	2. Friends and Their Puzzles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every so often, Clara takes the Doctor by surprise. Sometimes, on occasion, she knows things that he doesn't.

Clara was more curious than anything. Was Atlantis a real place? He even mentioned visiting other versions of it. Which was the real one? Or were they all real? She had so many questions.

He was rather intent on this mission of his. She watched as he primed the navigation controls and typed away furiously and one-handedly at the keys. He was plugging in coordinates, getting everything ready, and then he yanked the lever to send them flying off into the past.

That sound, oh how she loved that sound, and the excitement that bubbled in her veins at the thought that they’d be going somewhere _new._ Somewhere _previously undiscovered._ She’d be the only Human to ever know how about Atlantis in the present day, in the twenty-first century. The only one. That is, _if_ they found it.

“Tell me something,” she began casually. “Why didn’t you just go off looking for _The Lost City_ on your own? You could’ve, yeah. Could’ve just gone off and looked for it all by yourself. Why did you come back and get little ol’ me to join you? I bet you go on lots of trips without me.” She paused, then added, “I’m only wondering. You always smell like adventure and mystery and stardust. I know you keep busy without me.”

He looked a bit taken aback by that, eyebrows downturned and a frown marring his previously serene look. “Surely that’s obviously by now, Clara,” he replied, sounding none-too-bothered by her question.

“Not to me,” she quipped in response, eyes intently watching him. She took note of the awkward posture, the way he had a hand lain upon his chest and the other limply lying at his side. She knew him well enough to know by now that he was uncomfortable.

For a moment, however, he smiled. “I like adventures as much as the next man,” he said, “but they’re really no fun unless you’ve got a companion to share them with. Don’t you think?”

Out of all the people in all of the Universe, as big and as silly as it was, he had chosen _her._ She was impossible, sure, and she was also willing to put up with his nonsense. She gave as good as she got when it came to him. But out of everyone, out of the millions of choices he must have had over the years, he had chosen _her_ to travel with. To _still_ travel with. She couldn’t — _wouldn’t_ — dare to put a name to the heavy emotion that welled up inside of her, even as she looked away and shyly tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

There was something so wonderfully mysterious about the word _companion._ Did it mean _best friend, confidant of sorts, travelmate, or a kindred spirit, perhaps?_ Or something more, like a _lover, a soulmate, or someone so faithful, so steadfast in friendship that it couldn’t even be defined? So otherworldly?_ Their relationship was unquantifiable in her eyes. She couldn’t even begin to wrap her head around it.

“I was just wondering,” she eventually told him, which seemed to ease whatever worries were there, nagging at the very edges of his thought. Whatever anxieties he’d had slowly passed. She could see it in his eyes. And really, she hadn’t meant to frighten him.

“Well,” he said, slowly turning the screen towards himself to give it a good view. “I’m afraid we’re in a spot of bother. There’s nothing here. Just ocean. Maybe Plato was mistaken. Maybe Solon was _wrong._ Or, the priestly scholars at Sais. Any way we split it, _someone_ was entirely mistaken.”

Clara came round to stand by his side, arms crossed over his chest. “You two are friends, yeah? You and Plato, I mean.”

The Doctor’s brows rose, not quite understanding where she was headed with that train of thought. Perhaps he should follow. “We’ve known one another for a long time now, yes,” he simply told her, eyes falling to her face. “Why should that matter?”

Clara gave him a secret sort of smile, the one that she always wore when she knew _something_ and he hadn’t a clue what she was on about. “You’re friends. Good. Yeah. Friends tease each other, don’t they? Maybe he _wasn’t_ mistaken. Maybe, the coordinates that he gave you are somehow… _turned round._ I don’t know, like a puzzle or something. You know?”

When her point finally dawned on the Doctor, he began to nod his head. He was beaming with pride. That was Clara, always one step ahead of the game. And the game, apparently, was afoot.

“Might not be a thing, but flip the coordinates around and see what happens,” she told him, and watched as his lithe fingers flew about and tapped on the keys as he did as was bid of him. He let her have the honors and pull the dematerialization lever when ready.

The clever girl that she was. She was _right._

Suddenly, as the TARDIS landed on solid, hard ground, they both released breaths they hadn’t even realized they were holding. The TARDIS shook momentarily before all went silent. A look of excitement passed between the two of them. She smiled that cheeky little smile of hers and a goofy, silly grin slowly found its way to his lips.

“Go on, then,” he told her, nodding his head towards the door as he snapped a finger. A door open, sunlight pouring in to welcome them. He could hear birds chirping outside and hear waves lapping at a rocky shore.

They were _somewhere._ She ached to find out where that was.

Slipping away from the console after the affectionate pat to the metal panel between them, which hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Doctor, she headed for the door. He stood back, for a moment, and watched her go. She popped her head outside, raising a hand to shield her from the sun. Bright, blinding sun, that seemed to warm everything in sight, and a clear blue sky. It was certainly a lovely change from damp, overcast London.

Eventually, the Doctor joined her and stuck his head outside, just above hers. Surely it was quite the sight. He could only laugh happily and genuinely with surprise.

The TARDIS’ animatronic voice sounded overhead, on the loudspeakers. “Warning. Please be careful.” The Doctor tossed a look upwards, a bit miffed. She continued, the lights dimming in aggravation. “Doctor, I am a four-dimensional entity and can occasionally respond to exterior dangers before said danger manifests itself. If need be, I will enact the Hostile Displacement System.”

Clara tossed a glance behind her toward the Time Lord at her side. “Doctor, what’s she on about? What’s going on?”

There was a pause before the TARDIS continued. “When my Exo-Chronoplasmic Shell is threatened, I will dematerialize from my current location in Time and Space and rematerialize in a safer area. I’m detecting high levels of electromagnetic radiation.”

The Doctor laughed then. It didn’t ease Clara’s worries, though. “It’s just a bit of sun! I know we’re normally in bleak, rainy London, but a bit of sun won’t hurt you. Enjoy it for the time being!”

Clara wasn’t convinced. But, if danger lurked around the corner, maybe they were meant to come here and save the day! She grabbed a hold of his coat sleeve and tugged him outside with her. He followed without any hesitation, slipping his sonic glasses on to run a quick scan of their surroundings.

 _Scan in progress,_ it read on his lenses in the loops and dots of Gallifreyan script. He was distracted, though, and perhaps that’s why he hadn’t noticed. There was a Human approaching. Approximately thirty-five years old, in good health, and alarmingly tall and muscular, although covered by freshly-laved and bright armor. The script on his sonic lenses said so, but he realized only too late.

“Stop right there! Are you from Sparta? Traitors!”

The man came closer, pulling his worn xiphos short-sword from its sheath. This man was a well-seasoned warrior. A guard of some sort as well, it seemed. The blade clanged noisily as he man studied them, Greek helmet shielding the majority of his face and hiding away his expression, a rectangular, decorated shield in his opposite hand.

Slowly, he asked, “What odd clothes you two wear. Are you travelers from a distant land? What is this sapphire-colored box on the shore? Is it constructed of wood? You just… appeared, as if out of nowhere. What is this magic? Explain yourselves!”

Clara sighed as she puts her hands up in defense. Then she mumbled, “Our first Atlantean man and he already wants to kill us. Just lovely.”


	3. Meeting the Locals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor become acquainted with the Atlantean centurion, and his wife, who are both intent on showing them around the island. The Doctor discovers that Plato was right. All of his writings, each and every sentence in them, were correct. Maybe he should believe his friends more often.

Gallus, as they learned the warrior was named, was a man in his mid-thirties and a decorated Olympic champion. He was married, although he had no children yet. He had been in the Atlantean army for years, but he was from elsewhere. He’d moved there with family decades before. Magnificent man, with a warmth for women and a love for learning. 

The Doctor and Clara showed him to the TARDIS and let him inside. Therein, after, he assumed they were Gods. The Doctor didn’t argue, only because he assumed the warrior might  _ really  _ try to kill them if he admitted otherwise. 

Atlantis, as they soon learned, was a vastly huge island. It was mountainous and rose straight from the sea. It harbored fertile plains and hills, was surrounded by rings of land and sea, all of which were said to be created by the mighty Poseidon to protect his people. The race of people had then prospered over many generations and they conquered the lands around the Mediterranean. The Doctor believed the young man. He had no reason not to.

Everything,  _ everything,  _ was told perfectly in Plato’s writing. He knew what to expect, or what to  _ hope for.  _ And it was all true, it seemed.   
  
The land of Atlantis produced trees, rare and invaluable metals, an incredible amount of food, and was inhabited by a great many creatures. This included elephants, of course. The latter terrified the Doctor, and for whatever reason he wouldn’t say, but he dared not get close. Clara, however, had no fear. She had always wanted to see one —  _ safely  _ — up close.

The people of Atlantis lived well. They irrigated their crops, domesticated creatures and herded cattle, and cities were built with harbors and temples. Bridges and canals with walls and gates were constructed to join the rings of sea around the island, all to protect it. 

At the centre of the city was a temple to Poseidon which was faced with silver and other precious metals and given a roof of ivory. It was absolutely breathtaking to behold. 

The city had large bath houses and fountains, a horse racing track, palestrae, gymnasia, and wonderful gardens. The people lived in peace and prospered for it. Markets lined every street and shops were always open.

Everything seemed to run off of power from a source of crystals. Curious things, they were. This was where it all got a bit tricky. They were alien, as far as the Doctor could tell. Alien and beautiful. Bright pink and fluorescent in color and  _ strong  _ as a source of energy. However they worked, he was determined to find out. But,  _ how  _ had the Atlanteans gotten their hands on them? That was the biggest question he had.

It was a mystery.   
  
Quite simply this race on Atlantis was the most populous, technologically advanced, powerful and prosperous ever seen. Yet, somehow, their decline would be swift and dramatic. The Doctor was left to scratch his head at the mere idea.

That was, until Gallus mentioned the King growing greedy with a lust for power. All the free people felt this way. 

In his mind’s eye, the Doctor began to recall Plato’s writings, specifically Timaeus and Critias. It was said that the King and his people (although roughly outlined) grew a great lust for power and decided to try to conquer more land, surrounding the great Pillars of Hercules. The Gods were outraged and destroyed the city, sending it deep into the sea. The area where the island once was was gone and all that remained was dangerous mud. No sailors were skilled enough to navigate around it.

But, perhaps that was too much to contemplate right now. Not when there was wine placed in front of him and somethings warm and smelling suspiciously like scones of some sort were being placed on a platter.

Gallus was speaking and the Doctor tried his best to give the man his full attention as he gathered food in his home, his wife paying mind to something cooking over a fire. 

After showing them around the city, he had invited them back to his home.

“It’s said that Poseidon received this island as a home for his children, children that he had fathered to a mortal woman,” Gallus explained slowly. He then eyed the Doctor and lofted a brow before pouring them all wine. “What do your people believe in?” His eyes were on the Doctor again, head tilted curiously. “Both of you.” 

Clara was going to answer, although it seemed that the Doctor beat her to it. “No, no,” he said quietly. “Clara and I aren’t the same. . . We’re from different places. She’s from  _ this planet,  _ but another place, beyond the ocean. We’re both. . . from the future. We’re from days to come. This is the past for us. And I’m from  _ another world.”  _ He pointed to the roof, to the stars. Then, he added, “I’m from beyond the stars. Another place. We may look similar, but we’re very different.” 

The Doctor drew in a thoughtful breath, casting a glance Clara’s way, and saying, “I’m from a place called Gallifrey. My people do not believe in religion, and we have no… higher power, if you will. But I’m not sure what’s out there.” His brows drew together. “Only one group, a rogue organization that were very,  _ very  _ bad, practised a sort of perverted voodoo religion. The Faction Paradox, they were called. Nasty buggers. But no, we have no religion, the rest of us.” 

Most of what he rambled off had gone over their heads but, to their credit, they listened along with interest and wonder in their eyes. It gave him a chuckle. They were so amazed by their guests, these two strangers that they genuinely believed were descended from the Gods.

He had met many Gods in his lifetime and all of them were mortal and false. Nevertheless, he didn’t have the heart to crush their hopes. That wasn’t his place. Instead, he simply said, “I think your Gods are wonderful. Imperfect and fascinating. Mighty. Worthy of storytelling, with their treacherous tales and good deeds. Greek history has always been one of my favorite things.” 

He didn’t say  _ mythology,  _ no. He used the term  _ history,  _ instead. It was important to him. Never belittle another man’s religion. To one, it may be folklore, but to another, it is simply  _ history. _

This earned the biggest of smiles from both Gallus and his wife, Alcmene. They had so many questions and the Doctor took them all in stride. Clara was honestly  _ impressed  _ with his patience. He wasn’t one for answering a lot of questions, not even with her. 

_ But,  _ she supposed,  _ there was always a first time for everything. _

Something was nagging at the Doctor, though. Why, earlier, was the TARDIS going on about extremely high levels of electromagnetic radiation? Could it really have  _ just been  _ the sun? He should have checked the readings better. He shouldn’t have brushed it off like he had. 

And, really, he  _ needed  _ to get his hands on some of those crystals to scan them. What was inside of them? What were they made of? Where were they from? Had someone left them here? He had more questions than answers.

Casting a look towards Clara, he watched as she spoke freely to the Atlantean couple. He wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying. He was subtly observing her — her body language, and the smile on her lips. She was captivating. It was plain to see that she was  _ happy  _ here, with these newfound friends of theirs.

Her enthusiasm and excitement for adventure  _ constantly  _ surprised him in the best of ways. Her lust for life, her desire to meet new people and to see new places. It reminded him of how it  _ should  _ be. 

Clara made him remember why he relished traveling, why he loved the rush of adventure. She served as a continuous reminder as to  _ why  _ he kept on running and running, never looking back and always saving planets and people who required a bit of help. She was  _ good  _ for him.

Clara Oswald was a mystery. A mystery wrapped in an enigma squeezed into a skirt that was just a little bit too tight.  _ Some things would never change. _


	4. When Something Feels Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara realizes why the Doctor doesn't let himself grow close to those he meets along his many and long adventures.

They decided to stay a few days. Their new friends were gracious, letting them stay with them. The only problem was that Clara seemed to be taking quite a liking to their newfound companions, who showed them all around the island, and its surrounding islands that were also under the protection and command of the King of Atlantis.

They were kind and courteous and it would make it all the harder to say goodbye when the time came. The Doctor knew that _all to well._

One must tread carefully. Remember: Ripples, not _tidal waves._

One evening, after Gallus and his wife — _Alcmene_ — had gone to sleep, Clara found the Doctor out on the patio, admiring the stars. He seemed so at peace, so utterly lost to his thought, that she turned to take her leave before he hopefully noticed her presence. But, as always, he stopped her with that deep Scottish burr of his.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, casting a lofted brow in her direction. “Come. Join me.”

Timidly, Clara made her way over to him and found a seat at the white wicker sofa where he was sat, her eyes drifting over his features before she dared to ask, “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we? We don’t just normally go places and take a small vacation. When have we ever done that?”

She poured herself a cup of wine, sipping tentatively and sniffing to enjoy the aroma.

He grew pensive, eyes moving over the stars again and finding the Moon, so bright and beautiful, before he responded. “There’s a reason I tend to not just… _linger_ in very many places, Clara.” Then, softer, “Yes, there’s a reason we’re here.”

She sat back, fluffing a handmade pillow and drawing it to her chest as she thought about his words. “I know,” she answered softly. “You don’t like getting attached. It’s why you don’t do goodbyes, because… I think… they hurt too much for you.” She paused for a moment before adding, “Two-thousand years old and you still can’t bear to read the last page of any books.”

She knew, deep in her heart, that it would hurt her to say goodbye to Alcmene and Gallus. This island was doomed to sink, and all those on it would perish. _They_ would die. And the thought wounded her deeply. They were _good people._

“Good people die every day and I wish it wasn’t so,” he said quietly, not having meant to catch wind of her thoughts. He was far more telepathic than he ever let on, and he became sheepish when he learned that she hadn’t uttered the words aloud for him to hear. It was the look of surprise in her eyes that told him.

“I know they do,” she eventually said, after swallowing the lump in her throat. Slowly, ever so carefully, as one would approach a wounded animal, she slid over towards him and her head came to rest on his shoulder. She was both seeking comfort and hoping to offer it. He understood, anyway. Oftentimes they didn’t need such trivial words between them.

A long while passed before she finally, _finally_ spoke again. He’d thought she’d dozed off that it had been so long. Gently, she asked, “What’s the reason that we’re staying for a while, then, Doctor? You can tell me.”

His eyes drifted down to her, studying (and admiring) her features, free to do so with her eyes closed. Then, he answered her. “Those crystals aren’t of this world. I’ve been trying to get my hands on a few of them. I succeeded earlier today. I brought a few of them back to the TARDIS for testing. We’ll know their origin by tomorrow, I should think. I landed the TARDIS in an alleyway a short distance from here. Far enough away to not look suspicious and close enough that we can get inside if we need to.”

She listened to him ramble for a while before asking, “If they aren’t of Earth, then where are they originally from? Who brought them here and just left them? Why do the Atlanteans have their hands on them?”

Pride shone in his eyes, despite her inability to see his expression, before he told her, “Ah, now you’re asking the right questions, Clara Oswald.”

He fell silent for a moment, jaw tightening and loosening in thought before continuing. _“Question:_ If they aren’t of this planet, where did they come from? Who put them here? And, more importantly, are they the _reason_ that Atlantis falls? We already have a greedy King here. Those crystals could be powerful enough to wipe out this entire planet, for all I know. This entire _galaxy_ , perhaps. There’s so many of them on this island. It’s a recipe for disaster. _Conjecture:_ A race of alien beings could have _planted them_ here as an _experiment_ of sorts, to see how the people of Earth would take to them. But something’s wrong. I can feel it. _There has to be more.”_

She felt the feeling swell and bristle within him. The need to move around and wave his hands about animatedly, all whilst spewing out theory after theory about these confounded crystals. Running circles around Clara until it wore her out. Grabbing pen and paper and jotting every single thought that came to his wild mind down. Something about it wasn’t right and he _knew_ that, yet he hadn’t figured it out yet.

Still, he remained where he was, letting her rest against him in the dark. He didn’t have the hearts to move, to end such a sweet moment between them. Another _almost_ to add to their ever-growing list of _intimate moments between friends._ But, were they just friends?

The remainder of the evening was spent that way, with her curled up at his side, head placed delicately on his shoulder. And when she woke in the morning, it was to the odd rise and fall of a chest. _The Doctor’s chest,_ in fact. He was fast asleep beside her, his coat thrown over her shoulders. There was a leather notebook, a pen, and his diary all splayed out across his lap, along with a tiny pink crystal. He’d been sketching it, she could see. Quite well, in fact. Apparently he was _also_ a wonderful artist.

It was so bright, so beautiful. It practically glowed there, resting on the book where he’d left it.

Tentatively, Clara reached out to touch it. It felt… _warm._ Should it have _felt_ warm? It felt powerful to hold in her hand. Powerful and raw with it. It was neither weak, nor gentle. And, for a moment, she felt drunk with power. But the feeling eventually passed. It dissipated and then she dropped it back down onto the leather-bound notebook that the Doctor had lying open, a pen inside, between its pages.

_It happened later on._

The Doctor didn’t even know how to respond. One minute they were talking and the next she was keeling over right beside him. And really, how _does_ one react? How _should_ one react to something like that happening?

_“Clara!”_

That was the last thing she heard before passing out. When she awoke, it was to a concerned Time Lord and a bright blue sky above her. She was lying flat on her back on the grassy ground. He was knelt above her, at her side, and he was checking her vitals by hand. He listened for her pulse, straining to count the beats and ignore the pang of terror in his hearts.

“Doctor, I’m fine,” she insisted. Still, he checked her over. She could admit, if only to herself, that she enjoyed being fussed over by him. His hands were gentle and his eyebrows _(drawn together as they were)_ seemed all too fierce. Battle-ready eyebrows.

He sensed her thoughts — or heard them, rather — and gave her a mock-disapproving glare. “Have you lost your mind?” he teased her, slightly amused.

 _Oh._ He _heard_ her thoughts. How bloody embarrassing.

He laughed softly as her cheeks went pink. “Help me up, daft old man,” she said, half-sputtering. And so he did. He hoisted her up, an arm around her side to allow her to lean against him. He was strong and she was thankful for the assistance. He held her close, _almost protectively,_ and waited for her to gain footing again.

“Doctor, I’m just fi—”

The breath left her lungs as quickly as it had come. Her eyes closed. Again, she passed out. This time, he caught her and scooped her right up into his arms.

“Clara, can you hear me? Stay with me,” he murmured gently. “Just stay with me.”

Turning towards Gallus’ place of residence, he sighed. He headed off towards the TARDIS, saying no more. He needed to get her to the medical bay. Something was terribly, _terribly_ wrong. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. Not _ever._ They still had so many words to say, so many more planets to see, so many more sunsets and sunrises to admire.

He once promised her that he’d show her every sunset he was capable of, in her life. A sunset for every Wednesday. But, then again, every Wednesday was becoming almost _every other day_ in their book. He stole her away more often than not these days, and she loved it.

_He couldn’t lose her now._


	5. Think Think Think, Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets a rather brilliant idea.

The Doctor was always so stoic and strong, especially in moments such as these. Or, at least, that’s how one would perceive him. He was never that way _inside._ No, inside his hearts were aching. Clara, _his Clara,_ he couldn’t lose her now. He _wouldn’t_ lose her now.

They still had so much left to do.

He brought her back to the TARDIS, bustling inside. He didn’t even bother to keep their telepathic connection internal. No, he spoke aloud to his old girl. Still, she would answer telepathically, yes, but he was in a hurry. He didn’t have the concentration to speak the words in his thoughts, in his mind.

“Anything to report, old girl?” he asked, hurriedly, as he made his way down the hall to the medical bay with Clara in his arms.

 _‘My systems are functioning within normal parameters,’_ the TARDIS told him tentatively. _‘What is wrong with Clara? I’ll move the medical bay closer. First door on the left.’_

He went jogging down the hall, pushing the door open with his backside and slipping into the large room. It smelled sterile, like a hospital, and his nose wrinkled of its volition. He abhorred that clean, nauseating smell. It reminded him of army hospitals during the Time War, back on Gallifrey. It made him fight the urge be ill.

He immediately made for a cot, laying her down gently. She seemed like she was waking up a bit and he placed a hand at her shoulder to hold her down, whispering gently to her. “Clara, don’t move,” he told her. “You passed out a few times. Lie back. Please don’t get up.”

He began to hook up an IV, something from the fifty-first century, clean and effective. She would never feel it. Not at all painful like those pointy needles on Earth. He drew blood for a few tests and the TARDIS scanned her, a blue light ghosting over her body momentarily before fading.

His TARDIS began speaking to him again, telepathically. _‘She is suffering from an advanced, extra-terrestrial radiation poisoning, Doctor.’_

He froze, eyebrows drawn together. “That can’t be possible. She isn’t exhibiting any symptoms. Where on Earth would she have contracted it? Radiation poisoning doesn’t just _happen_ like a flu! You don’t just start sneezing and then you’re dying! Why am I just _fine,_ then?”

He pushed a hand through his hair, wandering back and forth whilst thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking. He needed to figure this out. “How do you know she’s suffering from exposure to radiation? How? Her skin isn’t showing it.”

 _‘Because the tests came back for the pink crystals that you wanted analyzed, Thief. The were formed during the death of a giant star, the Matellbus Star judging by the looks of it. She must have touched the crystal. She must have held it. Even exposure for a moment, without an immunity built it, can cause harm. Your DNA is different than hers. Are you feeling ill?’_ There was a pause, as if his beloved ship was thinking. _‘The damage is internal. Not external. She has hours to live. Three, possibly four hours. I can prolong her death for the time being, by stabilizing her and making her as comfortable as I am able to, but without being able to specifically treat the radiation itself, her death is only inevitable. There is no cure.’_ There was another heavy pause. Then softer, _‘I am sorry, Doctor.’_

He turned, overcome with anger for a moment, and kicked a box of sterile operating equipment. It went flying and tumbling over with a harsh sound. Everything inside hit the floor and seemed to echo off the four walls in that room, as small as it suddenly seemed.

“It’s not fair!” he shouted.

_Life wasn’t fair._

There was a moment of eerie, pained silence before his beloved ship asked, _‘Are you feeling ill, Thief? Don’t shut me out. I cannot help you if you do not offer me insight as to your own condition.’_

He waved a hand for a moment, a bit at a loss. Then he said, “No. No, I’m fine. I don’t feel anything. You must be right. I touched that crystal, too. I’ve touched a few, in fact. Humans are so fragile. Our DNA makeup is different. That must be the reason. Gallifreyan blood has regenerative properties in it. We heal from simple things like electromagnetic radiation, all the time… It won’t affect me. I can’t exactly say the same for _other_ types of radiation, but it comes in handy.”

He was dejected, hurt. _Broken inside._

He couldn’t even focus on the crystals, or the issue they suddenly presented at the moment. They were filled with _sunlight._ They were formed during the death of a star in a faraway galaxy. They were _never_ meant to find their way to Earth. They held _light_ within them, enough light to power whole cities. They could _destroy_ whole _planets_ if used improperly.

Then a nasty little idea popped into his head. It was dangerous and reckless. He’d never attempted something like it before. An eyebrow rose as he turned back towards Clara and said aloud, “Gallifreyan blood has _regenerative properties.”_

He turned away, rummaging quickly through a drawer for a few things. “I’m going to give Clara a blood transfusion. _My blood._ It’ll heal her. Hopefully. Or maybe it’ll kill her. Maybe her body won’t be able to sustain it. It might kill her. Seventy percent chance it might. Eighty percent chance, maybe. Seventy-five.”

He shut his mouth as the TARDIS began speaking soothingly to him. _‘If she is going to die anyway, you should attempt it. It could possibly save her life. Who knows the lasting effects it could have her on her, though. It might change her drastically. Aren’t you worried?’_

He took a deep breath as he gave himself an intravenous needle. “I will not let Clara Oswald die,” he said confidently. "I'm a Universal donor. I can do this. I can save her." There was _so much more_ in those words, though. It was unspoken. All of it. Every single word, every sentiment, every tug of his hearts. He was _hers._ This face was hers, and no one else’s.

He came closer, beginning the transfusion and pulling up a chair beside her. At first, she was lying still. She was passed out again. She didn’t stir. Then, rather unexpectedly, a few minutes into the procedure, she began to seize and convulse.

Her body wasn’t going to be able to handle the change. _Something_ was going very wrong. He sat up, standing and twisting his body to be at her side.

Her body was healing. He could see it. Then why was she responding this way? Her body couldn’t handle the change in DNA composition. The framework was different. Humans weren’t used to such alien biology.

Could she hang on for a moment or two longer? She would heal. Hopefully. Maybe. It was tearing her apart inside. What was _saving_ her was also _killing_ her, from the inside out.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled, a hand touching her forehead gently. He did the only thing he knew how to do. He gave her a precious piece of himself. He leant down and brushed his lips over her brow, a bit of a golden glow passing on from his body to hers. Slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed. The seizing stopped, her muscles ceased their jumping. Her body fell slack.

He lingered there, above her, and murmured to her soothingly. “It’ll be worth losing an ear or a toe along the way, just to know that I did this. That I saved you. You’ve only ever saved me, especially from myself.”

His forehead brushed hers before he moved away. He wasn’t one for sentiment or touching but he _needed it_ in that moment. It felt right. She wouldn’t remember a thing later on.

The TARDIS broke the silence. Telepathically, anyway. _‘Her pulse is much stronger now. The internal damage is healing. You saved her life.’_ All went silent for a few more moments before the feminine voice continued. _‘You need to rest. You gave her quite a bit of blood. Too much blood. You need to rest and get some liquids into you in a short while.’_

He fell into the chair beside her, feeling as if he’d been through the proverbial wringer. And, really, he had. He was paler than usual, his head rolling back on his shoulders as he settled into the chair to close his eyes. He was _just awake enough_ to tug the intravenous needle from his arm, not bothering to grab a piece of gauze to dab away the blood it left behind.

He fell into a fitful sleep beside her, both of them resting from everything that had just occurred. They needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving writing this story. I'm honestly so proud of it. It's one of my favorite projects. Thank you so so so much for the lovely, wonderful reviews. They make me want to keep writing. They really do. I can't say it enough. You're all so incredible for the detailed comments/reviews. They mean the world to me. Thank you very much. 
> 
> And god, it feels good to finally have a little something happen between these two, even if she won't remember anything when she finally wakes up later on. It's a start. They'll get there, eventually. Also, on another note, I love writing in his conversations with his beloved TARDIS. I love their relationship and all the ways they could communicate. I could write an entire long story about the two of them. Expect a little more of that in the future for them.


	6. A Simple Thank You Goes a Long Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara makes a terrifying discovery and the Doctor doesn't believe her in the least.

“You saved me,” he heard a voice say. Gently, he woke up and saw Clara trying to sit up. Quickly he tossed his jacket away and yawned tiredly. He’d had it draped over him as a blanket to keep warm. Not that it was helping much. He was shivering.

_Why was it so cold?_

“Don’t sit up so quickly. Be careful,” he told her as he stood. He nearly fell, though. _She_ had to reach out for him and brace his shoulders to keep him from outright tumbling over and landing flat on his arse. Thank goodness she had such strong hands, even when she was sleepy from a whole list of medications.

“I’m sorry? _I_ need to be careful? You need to sit down, Doctor,” she told him. “You’re very woozy. Please don’t fall over. Are you alright?”

He touched a gentle hand to his forehead as last night’s events slowly returned to him. Telepathically, he heard the TARDIS say, _‘You need to eat,Thief. You need sustenance and fluids. You require both immediately. You shouldn’t have fallen asleep after the blood transfusion took place.’_ It was only said to the Doctor, however, which explained Clara’s confusion easily as he said aloud, “Yes, yes. _I hear you._ I’ll eat soon.”

Then, upon seeing Clara’s questioning gaze, he explained, “It’s the TARDIS. Mother hen that she is. Telepathic communication. She’s always talking to me.”

Clara nodded in understanding a moment or so later and tossed a glance down at the intravenous needle she was connected to, hooked up to fluids and medicine to ease the pain that surely followed her rapid healing earlier in the day.

Had _long_ had they even been asleep for? He had no idea. Had it been such a few hours? A whole night? He'd soon find out. 

“What happened to me, Doctor?” Clara’s voice was frail, slightly fragile, as if she had a tickle in her throat from being asleep for so long. She tried to clear it away and only grimaced at how dry her mouth was. Wordlessly, he handed over a glass of water that had materialized on the bedside table for her.

The unease in her eyes told him everything that he needed to know about how she was feeling. More than anything, she wanted answers. She _needed_ them. He couldn’t fault her for that. He tried to gather his scattered thoughts for her.

“You were suffering from electromagnetic radiation poisoning,” he explained. “Internally. From the crystal I’d had that you obviously touched. You _did_ touch it, didn’t you?” She merely nodded her head and he continued. “My blood contains regenerative properties, so I gave you a transfusion. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time… I had no other options.”

He was cut off by her just then. She asked, “Wait, Doctor. _Was I dying?_ You’ve _never_ done anything like that before, at least not to my knowledge. I doubt you ever would under any normal circumstances. Be honest with me. _Was I dying?_ Is that why?”

There wasn’t a thing spoken for a few long, heavy moments. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully before answering her. Their eyes met.

“Yes,” he eventually told her, deciding to be honest. “Now you have some of _me_ inside of _you._ Some of my DNA is floating around in your bloodstream.”

Her eyes went wide at what he confessed. She was trying, and perhaps failing, to wrap her mind around all that he was saying to her. It was giving her a bit of a headache, truthfully.

“I was going to die,” she said slowly, “but you saved me. Now I have Time Lord DNA inside of my body. Your blood, and mine. Together.” He watched her blink a few too many times as she cast a long glance down at the intravenous needle. “There’s more,” she said. “I know there’s more. I know that face, Doctor. You forget. Please, just tell me.”

He sat up — _slowly_ — and took his time. He didn’t want to suddenly tumble arse over tea kettle again. He noticed something else. His beloved TARDIS had _also_ materialized tea and toast down on the table at her bedside.

He groaned appreciatively whilst reaching out for the teacup resting on the saucer. He took a long sip before answering Clara, who, by now, was growing increasingly more impatient with him.

“You couldn’t handle the composition of my DNA,” he explained. “My blood was saving you, but it was also killing you. The helix structure was all wrong. Your body couldn’t handle it. So I did the only thing I could do at that point…”

She looked considerably paler now, already knowing where he was going with all this. Somehow, she just _knew._ It made her ache inside. “Please tell me you didn’t,” she murmured softly, a lump forming in her throat. Her brows furrowed and her tiny hands fiddled with the hem of her skirt.

Then, tentatively, he said, “I healed you with my _regeneration energy_ as my _blood_ healed your radiation poisoning. Your body calmed. It worked. You were still alive and that’s all that mattered to me. I had to. You would have died, Clara.”

She sat up easier, watching as he nibbled on his toast. He was _hungry,_ she could tell. But he was being polite and eating slowly.

“Thank you,” she heard herself say shortly thereafter. “Thank you for saving my life, Doctor.”

The gravity of the situation was not lost on her, nor the intimacy of the act. He _saved_ her life, unwilling to lose her. He gave her a piece of himself without a second thought.

It left her more than a bit breathless to think about it.

He cast a rather soft glance in her direction before replying, “I owed you. I still do, if I’m honest. You jumped into my time stream for me, Clara. You saved me — _and the Universe_ — countless times over. Don’t you think it’s only fair that I return the favor whenever possible?”

She got up, clambering to her feet from the medical bay bed, shucking off her chunky-healed boots. Her feet ached. When she reached down lower for them, she found that the TARDIS had materialized a pair of soft, fuzzy slippers right beside them.

“Thank you, old girl,” she said fondly. Her feet slipped into them, immediately comforted by the soft, plush fabric, and a warm smile found its way to her lips.

_‘You’re welcome, Clara Oswald.’_

Wait.

She heard it. She _heard_ the voice as clear as day. It startled her, truthfully. She jumped. Usually, there was just a “beep” or two in response, but not this time. This time she _heard_ the TARDIS actually _speak_ to her.

_“Doctor—”_

Her tone gave him pause, as he was in the middle of a rather large bite of jam toast. “Yesh?” His answer was a tad muffled by food, but she didn’t care. She didn’t even notice the look on his features. He looked something like a hamster, with two full cheeks.

He swallowed, waiting for her to continue with two furrowed brows.

“I just heard the TARDIS’ inner… _voice,”_ she said. “How is that even possible? _Is_ that possible?”

She was instantly peeved to find him staring at her rather rudely, as if she’d sprouted another limb or a second head. He looked altogether startled by her admission. Then, abruptly, he said, “You’re mistaken.” He waved it off. “You’re on so many medications right now. You haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about. Trust me, Clara.”

She was confused. _Shocked._

“I do trust you, but…”

He pressed a long, pale finger to her lips to cut her off before replying, “No buts, Clara. You need to rest. You still have a needle in your arm. Where do you think you’re going? Lie back down. You need to sleep. And about hearing the TARDIS — you couldn’t possibly have. Here’s why… Only Time Lords can communicate telepathically with the ship’s interface. They can only psychic link with Time Lords. The soul of a TARDIS can only bond with someone of Gallifreyan descent. It’s the difference between this ship having a _pilot,_ and someone — _like myself_ — calling a TARDIS _home._ She can only speak to _me_ telepathically. Or... River... Then again, River _was_ conceived in the Time Vortex. But that's another matter for another day. So, you see, you couldn’t possibly have heard her. It’s alright. Lie down for me and close your eyes. You really need it.”

But he was wrong. She _knew_ he was wrong. She _heard_ the TARDIS speak to her. She tried to protest but he was already helping her to lie back down in bed. She couldn’t argue with him.

“Fine,” she told him. “Fine, I’ll get some sleep. Finish your toast first.”


	7. Stardust, Cinnamon, Old Books, and Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara finds the Doctor in his workshop as he's working on a doohickey.

Clara traipsed aimlessly down the long halls of the TARDIS, eventually finding her way to the workshop. The Doctor was inside, she could tell. She  _ felt  _ his presence. It was an odd sensation, but she’d grown used to it over the years. Now it just felt  _ stronger _ . Call it intuition. 

She could hear him tinkering inside the room and imagined him hunched over a desk or a table, a few small tools in his hands. It warmed her heart and brought a small grin to her lips. 

Eventually, she knocked on the synthetic material. The metal was cool beneath her fingers as she opened the latch and pushed the door open. 

“You busy?” she asked curiously. 

They never did this — _ just hanging out —  _ and she was a bit anxious. It told her, more than words ever could, just exactly what the gravity of the situation had been. It was  _ dire.  _ Worse than that, almost. He’d been  _ scared  _ for her life. 

They never just  _ hung out  _ in the TARDIS whilst they were off on an adventure. This wasn’t like them in any way. Maybe he was  _ working on something  _ he’d need. That made sense.

When she found him, she understood. He was nose-deep in a device that she couldn’t even describe. “What’s that?” Her voice was filled with curiosity and interest. It caught his attention. 

His picked his head up briefly, odd glasses sat upon the bridge of his nose. They almost looked a bit steampunk, Clara thought dimly.  _ Sexy.  _

“This doohickey here? It’s a Luminiator Processor Matrix from Yasniuturn,” he told her. “I visited there once. Excellent pastrami sandwiches. Anyway, right... Before I get sidetracked... You asked what this was? I’m altering its contents to change the cargo it can contain. It shrinks everything to microscopic bits inside, forever sealed safely away from prying eyes and sticky little fingers. They’re fantastic gadgets.”

His eyes lit up mischievously. “I’m doing a  _ clever _ thing.”

Clara faintly nodded her head as if she understood and roamed further into the room to have a look around. It smelled like electronics and dust and something  _ uniquely  _ Doctor-y. She’d grown to love that scent. It was masculine and intoxicating, like stardust, cinnamon, old books, and adventure. She  _ loved  _ it. 

His hoodie was slung over the chair beside her. He was down to a simple Bowie t-shirt and his favorite dark plaid trousers. She smiled fondly before nicking his jumper to slip her arms into the sleeves. She wasn’t even that cold. She just wanted a  _ piece of him _ close.

It hit her then, as she turned to cast a glance behind her at the Time Lord working away with delicate tools and the cylindrical-looking box laid out before him. She was  _ addicted.  _ Not just to this lifestyle and the allure of the adventures and their wonderful friendship. It was so much  _ more.  _ She was head over heels in love with him. 

By no means was he perfect. He was  _ imperfect,  _ and perhaps that’s why she adored him so.

Her throat went dry with the realization. She’d never been very good at loving Danny Pink, but, oh, she had adored the man. She tried her damndest to make it work. She  _ did  _ love him. But she  _ also  _ loved this wonderful, quirky, ridiculous Time Lord. 

Perhaps Danny had been  _ too perfect  _ for someone like her. He was too  _ good-hearted.  _

His voice pulled her from her thoughts. Yanked her from them is more like it, and then bonked her square on the nose. 

“Did you have a good rest?” His voice was tentative, gentle. She eyed him for a moment, taking note of the unease in his expression. He felt vulnerable with her now. She read it in the worry written across his features. The crease in his brow was his biggest giveaway. His eyes shone, teeth nibbling away at his lower lip as they ensnared it.

_ Still, they were handsome features, _ she noted, with a faint blush. Sometimes it hit her  _ just how good-looking  _ he really was. How had it taken her so long to see? 

“Had a good kip,” she said faintly, almost shyly. “Thank you for asking.”

He would feel vulnerable this way for a while. She understood. He’d given her something ever so precious to him.  _ Regeneration energy. _ And his own  _ blood,  _ just to save her life _.  _

She chose to politely ignore his scrutinizing gaze as she meandered towards a long workbench. Various objects were strewn across its surface. There were some old sonic device prototypes, which she glanced over with interest, a squeaky rubber chicken, and a few unfinished Lego structures.  _ Figures.  _

_ No pun intended. _

“From some lonely night, eh?” She gave a short, half-suppressed chortle after teasing him, taking great pleasure in the sudden intensity of his frown. Funny, funny man that he was. He could certainly dish it out but he  _ couldn’t  _ take it. Ah, well. He’d just have to learn. 

_ She could teach him. _

He had returned to his work by the time she cast another glimpse in his direction. He was bent over now, standing in front of his work-table, tiny pieces of equipment in hand. There was a magnifying glass set before him to help him. 

She was about to wander off when he spoke. His voice was tentative, a mere hushed whisper. “Do you remember any of it?” It took her a moment to understand what he was referring to. He was asking about the  _ radiation poisoning.  _

“No,” she said softly, hoping to calm him and ease his worries. “I only remember you taking care of me. Everything was fuzzy. I think I was in and out of it. I kept fading, yeah?” 

His head bobbed up and down in a nod before he set aside everything in his hands. “I was only wondering,” he told her. He said it in a way that was  _ far too obvious  _ to her, that he wasn’t  _ just  _ wondering. But she knew better than to ask. He’d obviously been in quite a state when everything had taken place. She couldn’t blame him.

She remembered him whispering to her, though. She remembered him telling her that  _ it was worth it, just to know that he’d done this. That he saved her. That she’d only ever saved him in the past, especially from himself.  _ She didn’t want to admit that, though. 

“I’m sorry I touched the crystal,” she murmured, eyes searching his features for something,  _ anything.  _ Did he feel the same way for her? She wondered so often. 

“It’s alright,” he quickly replied. “You couldn’t have known. Just… Just don’t touch another one. I’m not sure I couldn’t help you  _ again  _ if I needed to, and I can’t…” His brows furrowed.  _ He couldn’t lose her.  _ The words hung in the air like a heavy, dark smoke. 

“I won’t,” she told him confidently. “I won’t.  _ You  _ won’t.”  _ You won’t lose me,  _ she was thinking. He’d understand. He always understood the words unsaid. 

She let him return to his work shortly after.

A few hours later, they slipped back outside of the TARDIS to find their way back to Gallus and Alcmene’s place of residence. 

It was a pretty cottage sort of home. Stone, with a single room inside. There was a porch out back, a small garden for vegetables. It was a beautiful sight. 

Gallus was waiting for them when they returned later in the evening. “We worried that you had gone without saying goodbye,” he confessed to the pair. He seemed to notice that something was amiss with them, though, and finally asked, “Are you both alright? What’s happened?”

Clara was the first to speak, only because it was far easier than having to listen to the Doctor accidentally offending the poor man. There probably  _ wasn’t  _ an index card to fix the trouble he’d be in with her. 

“We wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye,” she simply said. “I promise. We  _ both  _ promise. And everything’s alright. I was a bit… er, under the weather. I was ill. I feel much better now.” Then, a moment or so later, she added, “We were… in our magic sapphire box. Everything is  _ just fine _ now.”    
  
The Doctor sighed heavily. He hated that.  _ Magic sapphire box.  _ She was a marvel of Gallifreyan technology, one of the most complicated and beautifully fascinating ships in all the galaxies and the infinite expanse of the Universe. She was  _ far more  _ than just a mere magic box. 

“We were just going into the city to visit the market,” Gallus said, sounding for all the world like a  _ normal  _ husband and not the soldier that he was. He looked so different without his armor, shield, and helmet. He looked softer, somehow. Blue eyes, dark, wavy hair, and a handsome smile to boot. It was easy to see why his wife loved him so. 

“We’d love to join you,” Clara said with a smile. She ignored the look the Doctor tossed her way, laughing into her shoulder. She was still wearing his hoodie, too. He hadn’t even said a single word about it. Maybe he liked it as much as she did. Possessive man that he was. 

“I don’t  _ do  _ markets,” he complained softly, into her ear, as she hauled him along by a tactfully clutched hand. She wasn’t letting go any time soon. “I don’t do any shopping. I don’t like it.” 

She rolled her eyes fondly, tossing an unimpressed look his way. “Get over it, daft old man,” she tittered and said. “We’re going  _ shopping.”  _


	8. Take Away, Right Under Your Nose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara spend a day in the market together. That is, until the Doctor turns around and she's nowhere to be found.

They went all around the market together. The day was spent meeting new people and exploring the inner-workings of the marketplaces in Atlantis. There were so many shops and emporiums around. 

It was wonderful, watching all the businessmen and farmers at their trade. It fascinated Clara. She was in awe of it all. The City itself was  _ utterly gorgeous  _ to behold. All the ivory and gold. The temples were by far her favorite. They were massive and breathtaking. They stopped for a few moments, taking a breath and admiring everything. The Doctor  _ knew  _ she was overwhelmed at the beauty of it all. 

“See?” he said softly, for her ears alone. “Aren’t you glad that Plato and I have our little chats now? We’d never have found this place, otherwise.” 

The Doctor wanted her to have something to keep, as a memento, something that would forever be  _ hers  _ from this place. This wonderful,  _ magical  _ place that they found, by some miracle. So, Clara found herself a pair of white leather sandals. She instantly fell in love with them and he was forced to conjure up some currency from those impossibly pockets of his. He, in turn, found a feather pen he fell in love with as well and had to buy.

So, in the end, the Doctor himself even did a bit of trading and bartering. “It’s a lost art,” he’d said. And, truly, that day, Clara believed him. Of course she did. In fact, she often believed him, even when she knew better than to.

There were street performers and fire throwers. There were men swallowing swords and others playing card games and gambling away money. There were even some younger men acting out a theatre play of sorts, telling of King Zoltar’s feats. People were gathered round, watching them intently. 

What the group  _ hadn’t  _ noticed was a few men in armor, easily recognized as the _ King’s Guard  _ were tailing them. They were being followed. And for a while now as well.

The Doctor, at once, turned towards Gallus and Alcmene with a questioning brow. The latter had a few bags of vegetables in her hands, brows arched, fiery hair flowing in the afternoon breeze. Then it hit her. He didn’t understand because he didn't know who the King was. 

Ever the bright one, Gallus jumped in, seemingly understanding as well. “King Zoltar,” he said slowly, pointing to the man in a faux gold outfit who was dramatically acting, “saved our people. Or, at least, that’s what he’d like to say. We had an earthquake a while ago. The Gods were very angry with us. There was War between us and a neighboring people. Zoltar ended the war. That’s what they’re acting out. But, he wasn’t  _ alone,  _ fighting the other King. He was surrounded by legions of men. Don’t believe anything that you see there, going on at that stage. No one else does. The King fancies himself a Hero.” 

Alcmeme looked a bit worried as she said, “Darling, don’t be so loud. Others can hear you. If someone  _ heard you…  _ Mustn’t say such things about the King  _ so loudly,  _ even if they are true.” 

The Doctor simply nodded his head in understanding. Oh, he understood perfectly now. From everything the couple had told them, it certainly seemed like this King was  _ less than pleasant  _ to his peoples. Quite the opposite. He seemed crude and barbarous in nature.

The Doctor turned then to ask Clara something, only to discover that she was gone. She was missing.  _ Nowhere to be found.  _

“Clara? Clara!” 

She was  _ gone.  _ Just like that:  _ Gone.  _

Gallus looked as shocked as he. He immediately followed after the Doctor, saying over his shoulder, “Go home, Alcmeme. In case that’s where she is. I’ll go with the Doctor. Be quick, and be safe! We won’t be long. Take the shortcuts.”

She went rushing off and Gallus turned for a brief moment, watching her fgo, keeping a sharp eye out, and then went following after the mysterious Doctor. “Wait for me,” he called out, determined to help if he could at all.

She was nowhere to be found, though, and any of the locals the Doctor asked about her only shrunk away in fear, as if they didn’t want to be pulled into whatever mess had found itself at the Doctor’s feet. 

What on  _ Gallifrey  _ was going on?   
  
He had only just gotten her back and saved her. He couldn’t lose her again. He  _ wouldn’t.  _ Had someone taken her? He knew the sinking feeling in his gut and it told him, more than likely, what the truth of it all was. Someone  _ had  _ taken her. But  _ who?  _


	9. From Grogian Sandblasters to Crash Landings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clever, brilliant, wonderful Doctor. He has an epiphany.

It was with a heavy heart that the Doctor left a worried Alcmeme and Gallus at their home, to keep them safe, and then made his way to the TARDIS. He needed to formulate a plan.

Someone had taken Clara and he was fairly sure that he knew just who. _King Zoltar._ Something about the man’s reputation seemed less than pleasant. It was only a gut feeling but he had nothing else to go on. The King must be behind everything. He had probably seen the new pair out and about, moving through the city and exploring. Maybe he thought Clara was a prize to be won, a piece of treasured to be acquired.

He rushed into the TARDIS, welcomed by the swinging of her doors and the beeping and buzzing of controls and the panels coming to life. He snapped a finger to close the doors, which immediately locked shut, before he made his way over to the console.

“I don’t usually do this,” he began, “but, well…” He yanked a very important, very well-disguised lever down without hesitation or qualm. All Time ceased to pass outside of the TARDIS. He was encased in his little blue box where he could, for the time being, solve the problem at hand. _Tactical Mode._ It was dangerous and he hardly ever used it.

_Clara._

Clara was the problem at hand. He needed to find her, and soon. What if something happened to her? She could be anywhere, or with anyone. Someone could be hurting her right now.

He clenched his fist so hard at the thought that he swore his knuckles were on the verge of bursting wide open. No, he couldn’t think that way. He just had to find her and keep her safe. He had to bring her home.

“I’m going to find you, Clara,” he whispered reassuringly, to himself, whilst descending the staircase and heading to the lower levels and towards a rather long hallway. He eventually found himself in the lab beside the medical bay and a door “swooshed” closed behind him.

“I need _something,”_ he said desperately, completely at a loss. He had to solve this mess to find Clara. He had to know the details. Maybe it all lead back to those awful crystals. Perhaps Zoltar knew more than he ever let on to his people.

Despite the crystals being formed during the death of the Matellbus Star, a giant black star, he knew there must be more. They were shaved down by what he immediately recognized as a Grogian sandblaster. They were perfectly cut and perfectly shaped. Nevertheless, who actually _harvested_ them? How exactly had they gotten here? That black star was located galaxies away, during its lifetime.

“Think, think, think, Doctor,” he told himself, tapping his forehead and trying to understand it all. It wasn’t coming, though. There was a piece of this puzzle that he was missing.

He pulled a keyboard close and began tapping away at keys.

An idea came to him rather suddenly. “Ah, Eprysk,” he mumbled in realization. “Wonderful planet. Tiny, though. Like, _really tiny._ Computer, search the Grog, Class 7 Species.”

The TARDIS was quick to help him. She was distressed as much as he was at Clara’s disappearance. That much was evident in her whirring sounds and gurgling beeps.

“Right,” he mumbled thoughtfully. “The Grog, small species, perfect for a tiny planet. Except, one day, they decided to expand. Not physically, of course. They’re all so little. But they left Eprysk.” He tapped his lip, lost in thought. “They were known for their mining, weren’t they? They nearly took over the market on trade for goods in the Sixteenth Sector of Paxmalian Galaxy, if I recall.”

He stepped away from the computer and its keyboard, beginning to pace thoughtfully. His arms crossed over his chest, a few fingers pinching both his upper and lower lips, his usual stance whenever pondering important questions or looking to solve mysteries.

He was about to continue prattling on and rambling aloud when something on the computer’s screen dinged. It flashed red and green, trying to catch his attention, and he cast a glance its way. “Yes?”

Calmy, the TARDIS spoke to him through their psychic link.

_‘There are records of a Grog fleet crash-landing on Earth, Thief.’_

He was truly astonished at that. But really, what _had_ he been expecting? It all clicked into place in that moment. The Grog must have crash-landed with the crystals aboard their ship, on the way to market to sell goods.

They couldn’t get the ship repaired. Instead, they created the island of Atlantis to exist on, where they lived quietly and mysteriously for many years, with their technology and the crystals for energy. They didn’t mingle with any humans, but they _did_ try to match their architecture and culture to at least attempt to fit in. They didn’t want to stick out or draw attention to themselves.

The TARDIS spoke up again, finishing his thoughts for him. _‘The atmosphere eventually killed them, many years later. It couldn’t sustain them. The chemical makeup was vastly different from their home planet. The entire group of aliens died on the island. Not long after, Humans migrated to the island out of curiosity. Finding no occupants but only the graves of the lost, they brought others to occupy the city and the island with them. So came the Tale of Atlantis, Poseidon, Cleito, and Atlas, and the Gods that once lived there and occupied its Great Walls.’_

The Doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of nose whilst listening, still thinking and trying to concentrate. His mind was going off on rabbit trails again. Best not to let it.

 _‘The radiation killed all Humans living on the Island of Atlantis at first,’_ the TARDIS continues. _‘The people never understood. Eventually, over Time, they built up an immunity to most of the radiation. It took generations, and their lifespans became rather short because of it, but they’ve managed to evolve and survive.’_

The Doctor ran a lithe hand through his graying, curly hair and nodded his head. “Right, yes, of course. And when Clara touched the crystal, it affected her the way it did because she had zero immunity built up.”

The TARDIS burbled and beeped and the computer showed Clara’s test results from before and after healing from the radiation poisoning, for reference. _‘Electromagnetic Radiation, also known as EMR. If you hadn’t helped her, Thief, she would have died. Let us hope, wherever she is, she won’t come into contact with any more crystals.’_

For a moment, the Doctor didn’t respond. He couldn’t bear to. Then, finally, he said, “I know that she would have died. I know. But now there’s a little bit of me inside of her. I’m not quite sure whether that’s a good thing yet or not. Time will tell. It always does.”

He brought up King Zoltar’s palace on the screen, looking over its schematics and reading over the Gallifreyan swirls and circles. It looked fairly simple a place to break into. Hell, he was _the Doctor._ He could break into _anywhere._ They broke into a bank once together. This would be a peace of cake. _Atlantean cake._

 

* * *

 

_“Atlantis was the domain of Poséidon, God of the Sea. When Poseidon fell in love with a mortal woman, Cleito, he created a dwelling at the top of a hill near the middle of the island and surrounded the dwelling with rings of water and land to protect her. Cleito gave birth to five sets of twin boys who became the first rulers of Atlantis. The island was divided among the brothers with the eldest, Atlas first King of Atlantis, being given control over the central hill and surrounding areas. At the top of the central hill, a temple was built to honor Poseidon which housed a giant gold statue of Poseidon riding a chariot pulled by winged horses. It was here that the rulers of Atlantis would come to discuss laws, pass judgments, and pay tribute to Poseidon. To facilitate travel and trade, a water canal was cut through of the rings of land and water running south for 5.5 miles to the sea.”_


	10. Screaming is Like Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara finds herself in a rather precarious situation. She isn't quite sure what to do.

King Zoltar was a tall, lecherous man. He had a dark beard, long hair, and wore thick robes. He was, in every sense of the word, a very  _ decadent  _ man. Very corrupt and self-indulgent. He ruled the Island of Atlantis with an iron fist and a cruel whip, and no one lived who dared defy the King.

He was positively exuding nefarious, shady intentions. 

Clara noticed all of this upon first meeting him. She was brought into his private chambers, practically carried by the arms by two rather brutish guards in full golden and ivory armor who cared little for her discomfort and pain. 

The moment they dropped her, she yanked off the burlap sack that covered her entire head. She gasped for a few, deep breaths and then sighed. “What is going…” Her sentence trailed off, however, the moment she saw  _ him.  _

There he was, the King, standing tall with a smirk on his ugly, fat face. “Hello,” he said, motioning to his two centurions. They came over, untying the ropes around her wrists. They ached and she rubbed them furiously as she got to her feet. 

“No need for you to be in pain,” the King said, offering her a hand up. She didn’t take it, however much of an insult that have been, and got to her feet all on her own. She was a bit unsteady, though. She wavered and wobbled and caught her balance. 

_ Did the Doctor know that she had been taken? Did he? Would he find her?  _

The King put something down on the table in the center of the room and she finally took a glance about the room. It looked like a study of some sort. A  _ private  _ study. The King’s private study, which means they’re in the Palace. Castle. Whatever they called it here in Atlantis. There were bookshelves and scrolls and golden candelabras and beautifully upholstered chaise lounges. 

Zoltar was watching her glimpse around her, taking in her surroundings. By the time she turned back towards him, he had moved closer.  _ Much  _ closer. She wanted to be sick. 

“Such a pretty thing,” he said quietly, a hand reaching out to stroke her face.  _ Somehow,  _ she resisted the urge to bite him. He watched her wide eyes, watched the way she almost stepped away from him but instead planted her feet hard on the ground.

She caught a glimpse of something behind his table. It looked like a cauldron of some sort. There was nothing lit beneath it, though. Why had he been looking inside? 

Clara’s head was spinning. 

“You wear such strange clothes,” he added a moment later, curiously, and cast his eyes down. He touched her jacket, a finger brushing the smooth, rain-resistant fabric and then fingering a brass button. “So odd. Where do you hail from?”

He waited for her to speak, his eyes leering and hungry, glancing down the front of her top. Her stomach lurched inside of her as his finger ran down her flat belly.

She chuckled nervously, all but recoiling from his touch. “Blackpool. Little house, normal family. ‘Cept for my wench of a step-mother. I’m a teacher, too. About to teach you a thing or two too, if you keep touching me like that…” 

He didn’t know her well enough, or at all, to know that her voice was verging on hysterical. And what did a hysterical woman who knew taekwondo do when she felt threatened? Well, he was just about to find out. 

“Get your hands off of me,” she warned him, voice low and even. She was ready to scream, though. To call for  _ help.  _ But no one would listen. The centurion soldiers had left the room, no doubt to stand outside in the hall and keep guard.

He pushed her against the bookcase and pressed his body to hers. “I don’t think I will,” he said, all whilst laughing darkly. “You see, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now. I’ve been watching you, wanting you all for myself.” 

Her eyes shut tightly and turned her face away from his, the stench of his breath altogether too terrible for her. Her eyes were burning and her throat felt like it was closing up. The terror of what was about to happen was setting in. 

Then she realized what he’d said.  _ He’d been watching her.  _

She tried to reign in her rampant, mad thoughts and asked hurriedly, “What do you mean, you’ve been watching me?” She was  _ still  _ trying to be brave, despite everything.

His hands were trailing up her sides now and he was too absorbed in what he was doing, or  _ trying  _ to do, to care about answering. “With the crystals. I have a crystal orb. I can see everything that happens in this city, and I’ve been watching you since you arrived. It was a gift from the Gods themselves.” 

She pulled back and shoved the palm of her hand right into his nose. She couldn’t hold back any longer. His hands had delved lower, between their bodies, and it was a knee-jerk reaction. No.  _ No.  _ He had no right to touch her in any way, especially her bare skin, and she absolutely wouldn’t  _ let  _ him. This was  _ not  _ happening.

He stumbled backwards and blood went  _ everywhere.  _ “Don’t you dare,” she said loudly, hysterically. Her skin was crawling, disgust written all across her face. She yanked herself completely away, wrestling back. Her eyes took one glance towards the cauldron and she  _ knew  _ she needed to see it.  _ Alien technology, maybe.  _

Suddenly the centurions were running back into the room at the King’s shouted requests and desperate orders and she was being dragged away. It happened so fast that she couldn’t even react. No amount of yelling or crying out in pain at being dragged would help.

“Take her to her room. She’ll come round, eventually,” King Zoltar said, head tipped back to stop the blood-flow from his broken, bloodied nose. “She’ll come back. She’ll come back to me begging to be mine. Give her a few days without food or water and rest and she will. I’m used to getting what I want.”  


End file.
